


Leaving the Hospital, I'm Going Home

by sodoesrachael



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Bashing fic, Brian/Justin feels, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gus feels, Hurt/Comfort, I just tagged everybody, Justin feels, M/M, Tearjerker, and the whole show, help I don't know what to tag this, so I've been told, spoilers for 510
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodoesrachael/pseuds/sodoesrachael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, 6 Times That Justin Went Home, and One Time He Didn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "All he thought about lately was death, and it fucking sucked."

1.

The first time, not including when he was _born_ , that Justin had to go to the hospital, and not including the time they found out he was allergic to Tylenol, because he couldn't remember _that_ , was when he was in the second grade. While the doctor examined his nose, which had only just stopped bleeding, Justin told his mother what had happened.

"And she's my new friend, Mom, Daphne. We were talking, and this kid, I don't know his name. Chris? Well, he came over and was being mean to her. Really mean. Called her the 'b' word, and some other word that starts with an 'n.' I don't know what it means. Do you know? Anyway, she started _crying_ , Mom. I couldn't just sit there? So, I stood up and told him to stop it. And he said no. And I said that I'd tell on him, so he started calling _me_ names. Then I stomped on his foot, and that's when he punched me in the nose. It bled a lot. So then I kicked him in between his legs, like they say to on TV all the time. And he stopped being mean! It works! And then Mrs. Anderson came over and I told her what happened, and I'm not in trouble. Well, maybe a little bit, but she was really mad at Chris. He's in _a lot_ of trouble. And Daphne stopped crying and hugged me and called me her hero before I went to the nurse, Mom. Am I in trouble, Mom?"

Jennifer looked at her son, who was squirming on the table as the doctor was fitting bandages on his nose, and knew that she really shouldn't condone his violent behavior at school. But she couldn't help but feel proud of him. At his age, standing up so strongly for what he believes in? She could only imagine what he'd be like when he was older...

"No, Justin, you're not in trouble. You know you shouldn't be violent, though, but I think your nose is punishment enough." He beamed up at her from the exam table, and Jennifer thought her heart might burst from all the love and pride she felt for this child.

She looked down at her rounded belly, and hoped that while maybe this one might have a _little_ bit less energy, that she would make her no less proud than her first born. And if she and Justin happened to stop for ice-cream on the way home, well, he _was_ injured. He needed a little comfort, after all.

2.

"I can't believe you would be so fucking stupid, Justin!" That made his mother stand up, telling _Craig_ to watch his mouth. "Don't say things like that to your 15 year old son!"

But Justin wasn't listening. His arm hurt, and his head hurt, and he knew he was going to be grounded until forever. He hadn't _meant_ to crash the car, but of course no one cared about that. It had happened, and that was enough.

"Damnit Justin! You don't have a license yet for a reason! You _know_ that you're only allowed to drive with an adult in the car with you! At this rate, you're never going to get your license." Justin perked up at that. "But dad, I'm supposed to get it in-"

Craig stopped him. "Enough, Justin. Not only did you hurt yourself, and Daphne, and the _car_ , you broke the law. This isn't something anyone is going to take lightly."

Justin had a brief interlude from all the yelling when the doctor came back with his x-ray to confirm what Justin already knew: his arm was broken. In two places. He winced as he looked at the picture of his _bones_ , snapped in half like twigs. "-you'll need to wear a cast for at least 6 to 8 weeks, Justin. At that time, we'll remove it and take another look. Then you'll probably have a soft cast for a while.

"I'm going to give you a sling as well, because the arm needs to be kept completely immobile for the next few weeks at least. Otherwise you run the risk of not letting your arm heal properly, not to mention you'll probably cause yourself some pain. Understand, Justin?" Justin nodded at his doctor, who left to get everything set up for his cast.

And that, of course, was an invitation for his father to start up again. "And I don't want you seeing that _girl_ anymore, Justin. She's a bad influence."

Justin gaped at him. "What? Dad, that's not fair. It wasn't even her idea! It was mine. We just wanted to go-"

But his dad cut him off again. "I don't give a shit where you were going Justin! For god's sake! You're 15 years old, not a fucking baby!" Then his mother interjected again.

"Craig! He made a mistake, yes, but he's still your son! Don't talk to him like that!"

Craig rounded on her. "Jennifer! We've been over this! Don't fucking baby him! You want him to grow up to be some sort of sissy?"

Justin wanted to be swallowed by the ground. He knew what his dad meant by 'sissy.' A part of him wanted to tell his dad that it was too late. That he already was a _sissy._ But another part of him wished that he wasn't. That he was _normal_. Then maybe his dad wouldn't yell so much. Then maybe his dad would love him.

His dad stormed out of the room after yelling some more, and his mother was left trying to compose herself. She gave him a weak smile when she noticed him staring at her, but it didn't quite meet her eyes. As tears began to track their way down his face, he thought to himself that if finding out that your dad's love _is_ conditional and breaking your arm and hurting your best friend isn't a reason to cry, he doesn't know what is.

3.

It was all so surreal. He'd been asleep for _how_ long? But then, he hadn't really been asleep, had he? But that was all he did now. Sleep, that is. You'd think he'd have rested enough, but apparently not. The doctors kept telling him that it was normal, but he didn't believe that. There was nothing _normal_ about him anymore.

But really, he didn't mind all the sleeping. When he was asleep, he didn't have to think. They gave him pills to keep the dreams away, so he could simply exist. He could pretend that he wasn't a bashing victim with a messed up head and a gimp hand and-

He could pretend.

He had visitors all the time. Everybody, except two. Except the most important... But his visitors, they all tried to cheer him up, like he was some little kid who'd scraped his knee and kept crying, not like he was an 18 year old who'd almost been killed by a guy with a baseball bat trying to bash his brains right out of his head-

Sometimes he didn't mind the visitors. Emmett was particularly funny. He always brought lots of colorful things for Justin's room, going on and on about _how did they expect_ anyone _to get better in all that drab_? He always made Justin smile, and when he did, he acted like Justin had just handed him an Oscar or a winning lottery ticket or something. Emmett was definitely his favorite visitor.

But there were times, a lot of times, when he just wanted them all to leave him alone. Debbie in particular. He loved her, of course, but she never let up about how Brian never visited, and what an asshole? And it was fucking depressing. Not so much that Brian wouldn’t visit, but more that he had a reason for being _visited._

A part of him was glad that Brian didn’t _visit_ him. Why would he want Brian to see him like this? He still had his head wrapped up like he had a turban, which he was grateful for since they’d shaved his head, his arm that he couldn’t even _move_ was in this fugly brace, he was still a fucking space-case, and the list went on. He didn’t want _anyone_ to see him, but he couldn’t keep them away.

One day when she was going on about _Brian-the-asshole_ he told her all this. Well, yelled it. But still. And she’d gaped at him, and then started fucking crying all over the place, telling his mom that he should see a therapist because he ‘ _wasn’t right,’_ and then he’d yelled some more and his mom tried to calm him down and the nurses came in to fucking _sedate_ him, and his room turned into a fucking circus.

And at some point in the middle of the night, when he woke up ‘cause he’d been laying the wrong way on his gimp arm, he was pretty sure he saw _Brian-the-asshole_ standing outside his room. And he was pretty sure that Brian saw him look at him, ‘cause he did his funny eyebrow thing, but then Justin fell asleep again and it could have a dream, but he didn’t think so.

But it’d be their little secret.

After spending so long in the hospital, Justin had decided that the single worst thing about being in one was the _knowing_. Sure, there were other things that sucked about it, like always being confined to a bed, or nurses come in and out all day and all night, or the noises the machines made all fucking night, but those weren’t the worst things. No, the worst thing was that he _knew_ , that somewhere in this hospital, people were dying. It was depressing, and it was creepy. It made his skin crawl. It made him dizzy. It made him crazy.

All he thought about lately was death, and it fucking sucked.

4.

Hospital chairs were fucking uncomfortable. Really, couldn’t they make an effort to make _anything_ comforting in a hospital? You couldn’t die comfortably in a hospital, and you couldn’t wait for someone to die comfortably in a hospital. The two things above all that a person needed to be comfortable for, and it was like the _hospital_ spat in their faces-

Justin shifted in his seat and was pulled back into the scattered conversations around him. Debbie was pacing, Ben was like a zombie and twisting his ring on his finger, Emmett looked like he wanted to bolt or vomit or quite possibly both at the same time, Ted was nowhere to be found, and Brian was just kinda there. Then he realized that he happened to be squeezing Brian’s hand so hard he thought it might break, so he loosened his grip. Brian didn’t look at him, but he squeezed Justin’s hand back for a moment.

He sighed softly and looked around, wishing for a moment that he were anywhere but here. But then, Michael had sat here for days when _he’d_ been here, so the least he could do was return the favor- But that thought made him feel like a horrible person. This wasn’t about him, this was about Michael, and he was being a selfish twat.

He shifted around again, flexing his right hand reflexively, and this time Brian did look over at him, but he stared straight ahead. He didn’t want Brian to know the kinds of things he was thinking while his _best friend_ was in surgery after being injured in a fucking bomb.

God. A bomb. That was one of the most terrifying things that’d ever happened to him; the _most_ terrifying that he could remember. So easily it could have been him, laying there, looking dead, in surgery now to repair his insides before he bled to death...

Jesus Christ. When had he gotten so fucking morbid? But then he thought back to a time when he’d lain in a bed in this very hospital, hearing and smelling and _feeling_ the death all around him in this godforsaken place after having had his brains stuffed back into his head, and he had his answer.

A doctor came in and interrupted his morbid thoughts, informing them that Michael was out of surgery and was being moved to recovery, and that he should be fine. Justin could almost feel the tension snap in the room, and it seemed that everyone took a breath of relief at the same time.

Had this been what they had felt all those years ago, waiting for a doctor to come in and tell them that he was either alive or dead? But then, the doctor hadn’t told them either. _Coma_ , that’d been their answer. No breaths of relief back then. Only more waiting. Too bad he’d missed it.

Never in a million years _before_ would he have thought that the words _coma patient_ would one day refer to him. But now they did, and even still, years later, when he was introduced to someone he’d see that flicker in their eyes. They knew who he was, what he’d been through. Or they thought they did. But they didn’t think like he did now, and they hadn’t lost what he had. Even now, he’d recognized a few of the nurses, and they remembered him, and they whispered about it to people he didn’t know, didn’t recognize. So fucking callous...

The doctor came back, telling them that they could see Michael now, two at a time. Debbie and Ben went first, of course. Justin sat in his godawful chair, trying to focus on Brian to keep him from _thinking_ anymore. And Brian looked at him and knew, so he leaned over and kissed him. Distracted him. And Justin rubbed a hand through Brian’s hair, trying to do what he should have been doing all along and comforting Brian back.

And then came their turn. As Justin walked down the halls of the hospital towards Michael’s room, with Brian still clutching his hand, he felt like he’d gone back in time for a brief moment. And switched places with Michael, since he wasn’t in a coma and Brian was with him-

They came to Michael’s room and went inside, and Justin felt like all the breath had escaped from his chest. There was Michael, in one of those stupid beds, hooked up to those stupid machines, and Justin thought he might throw up. And he was a really fucking terrible person for thinking it, but he was so fucking relieved that it wasn't him in that bed.

If he wasn't already, he was _really_ going to hell now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no time...

5.

Lindsay was at the gallery doing a show, Mel was having a conference with a client, and Brian was at Kinnetic in the middle of a meeting when the call came.

"I'm on my way," Justin told Gus' teacher, grabbing his coat off the back of the couch. He rushed out the door, on his way to the hospital, leaving a message for Brian while he did so. "Cynthia? It's Justin. Could you tell Brian to call me? ...No, I know he's in a meeting. After is fine... No, I think it'll be fine, I'll call back if I need him... It's about Gus, he broke his arm, but he's fine. Upset, but fine. I can deal with it until Brian's meeting is done... Thanks a lot, Cynthia."

After what felt like forever he pulled into the hospital parking lot, and after doing what was probably the worst parking job of his life, he rushed into the ER entrance of the hospital. "I'm here for Gus... Gus Marcus-Peterson." He told the receptionist. He pulled out the paper that he kept in his wallet, the one that Mel had given him, that allowed him to see Gus in these kinds of situations. It was folded and faded, but still legible, and after reading it, the nurse gave it back and directed him back to the curtained off area where Gus was.

Stepping around the curtains, Justin felt like a piece of his heart might be breaking at the look on Gus' face.

"Hey, Buddy," he murmured, walking over to the little boy. "Justin!" The boy sobbed out, reaching out to him with his good hand. Justin reached him and wrapped his hand in Gus', then sat on the chair next to him and squeezed his hand. With his other, he reached up and smooth down Gus' hair.

"So what color cast are you getting, Gussy?" He asked. Through sniffles and occasional hiccups, Gus answered "blue," and then went on to talk about how all his friends were going to sign it, and how he wanted Justin to draw on it. "And can you put a dinosaur on it? Please Justin? A big one! With big teeth! And can you draw daddy's car on it? I want a picture of daddy's car on my arm." Justin laughed and smiled.

"Of course I can, buddy. And after you get your cast on, you want to stop for some ice-cream? And later we can get daddy to go get some special markers for your cast, huh? And maybe a movie or two, how's that sound?" Gus nodded eagerly, and Justin smiled and ruffled his hair. "We'll call your moms and see if you can't stay the night tonight. "

Gus beamed up at him, and for a second Justin was struck by everything. By _this_ , by sitting here with this kid who was not actually related to him at all, but for whom Justin would do absolutely anything. This kid who Justin loved like he was his own son, and who, amazingly, loved Justin back. He'd been so sure that he'd never be a father, being both gay and with Brian, and beyond that, he'd always thought he'd be a lousy father. What kind of example had he had?

But here he was, sitting with his almost-son in a hospital, comforting him and promising him ice-cream and toys, _anything_ to stop his tears and make him feel better, and to fix his own breaking heart. Apparently he wasn't half bad at this whole fatherhood thing.

An attendant came in to fit Gus' cast on his arm, and Justin couldn't help but be thrust back in time, to a time when he'd sat in this very hospital with a broken arm, with his mother trying to cover up her weeping to save them all the embarrassment of it, and his father not bothering to hide his disapproval and contempt at his own son, and for a moment he felt lost. He still wondered, sometimes, what is was that he'd done to deserve his _own father's_ treatment of him...

No matter how often he told himself that it wasn't his fault, his heart didn't always listen. As much as he'd done and as far as he'd come, there was a part of him deep down that still wanted nothing more than his father's approval. Looking down at Gus, who was now chatting animatedly with the attendant about all his _daddy-Justin_ was going to draw on his cast, Justin vowed again to make sure that Gus wanted for nothing.

That he never had to wonder why his parents didn't love him...

And so it felt like a weird, twisted deja-vu, sitting here with Gus while they put a cast on his arm. And when Gus looked up at him, love and excite now in his eyes, he smiled and held his good hand and told him he loved him.

Because that's what a _good_ father does, _goddamnit_.

And as soon as the cast was on, and the forms filled out and signed, Justin got Gus out of that hospital as soon as he could. He still held true to his belief that there was nowhere on the fucking planet that was as depressing as a goddamn hospital. But that was nothing some good ice-cream couldn't fix.

_interlude:_

When Brian walked through the door, it was to see Justin standing at the window, the phone held loosely in his hand. Sensing that Justin needed some time, Brian went into their bedroom first, taking off his suit and changing into something more comfortable. When he was done, he found his partner in the same place he'd been in.

"Justin?" he asked softly, coming up behind him and putting his hands on his shoulders. Justin didn't say anything, but leaned back against Brian. Something in him relaxed, then, and Brian was relieved. This wasn't anything too bad, then, if Justin wasn't closing himself off completely...

"My dad... my dad's dead." Justin said softly, and all of Brian's thoughts of "not too bad" went out the window. "When?" he asked softly, slowly rubbing Justin's shoulders. "About... about two hours ago, apparently." He turned suddenly in Brian's arms, almost knocking them over, and wrapped his arms around Brian's torso tightly. Brian squeezed him back.

"And even now, even on his fucking _death bed_ , he didn't want me there," he said, his voice muffled by Brian's shirt. "According to Stacy, or Stephanie or whateverthefuck, he specifically asked them not to call me. Molly was there. Mom didn't want to upset me, so she didn't call. Didn't know he'd die though, she says..."He shuddered, and Brian could tell he was fighting back tears. "And I know... that he was an asshole, and I shouldn't care so much," he turned again, facing the window and crossing his arms over his own chest tightly. "But he was my _dad_ ," he whispered, staring out the window. A moment passed, and Brian didn't know what he could say, what he should _do_ , when-

"You know," Justin started softly, "when I was younger, there were times when he was a good father, a good man. But with every year, that man came around less and less. Then there were fights, and disappointment, and no matter how hard I fucking tried, there was no pleasing him..." His voice was thick with tears.

"This one, the one who _died,_ I didn't even know him..." His voice broke off then, and another shudder went through his body, and he clutched himself tighter, staring out the window.

Brian was lost. He had no idea what to say to his partner. He hadn't exactly been close to either of his parents, but he knew that didn't really matter. He'd still been shaken by Jack's death, even though the man never went a day without reminding him that he wished Brian'd never been born...

"Is there... is there anything I can do?" he asked softly, deciding to take Justin's lead. He got a head shake in response, and squeezed Justin's shoulders again, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "I'll get us some food, k?" he asked. After he got a small nod, Brian finally left him alone, and Justin finally cried. And Brian understood.

He wasn't mourning _Craig_ , he was mourning the father he lost years ago. The one he could barely remember.

6.

There was no time.

Looking down at Brian, _his Brian_ , looking so frail in a hospital bed, Justin felt the world crash down around him.

Fucking cancer.

It'd been so sudden. One day, Brian had been sick. Probably the flu, he'd said. The next day, he'd gone to the doctor, at Justin's insistance, and now here he was, in a hospital bed with _maybe_ three months to live, if they were lucky.

After that declaration from the doctor, Brian had actually cried. Not big, loud sobs, but a few tears had tracked down his face as he looked at Justin. Justin knew that he himself had looked shell shocked. That wasn't- There was no way-

But it was.

The first chance he got, when Lindsay and Michael and everyone had shown up and were with Brian, he'd slipped out and walked like a zombie to the nearest bathroom, where he'd locked himself in a stall and just _cried_. Sobbed. He didn't know how long he'd been there before Emmett had hunted him down. He'd pulled Justin into a hug and held him while he finished his crying jag, running his hands through Justin's hair but knowing not to say a word.

Then Justin had pulled himself away and gone back to Brian, ignoring the looks at the way his face looked, and had carefully crawled into the bed next to Brian, curling around him.

After the initial diagnosis, they'd let Brian go home, for awhile. There was nothing they could do for him at the hospital, they'd said, and he'd be more comfortable at home. Like there was any comfort left in the world...

After his initial breakdown, Justin was careful not to breakdown around Brian again. He saved his crying and ranting and sobbing for when Brian was out, usually in drug induced sleep. He tried to get everyone else to do the same.

Gus was the hardest. At only sixteen years old, there was no way he was ready for his father to _die_. But there was no being ready for this. Most of the time there wasn't even _dealing_ with this. But Justin didn't want Brian's last time with them spent in misery, with memories of sobbing and hysterics the most prominent.

But fuck it was hard.

He spent so much time and energy trying to keep himself together, but sometimes he slipped. Shortly after they'd all found out, Gus came over, thankfully when Brian was knocked out. He screamed and yelled and cried his heart out. And Justin had stood there, listening to Gus scream about how he wasn't ready for his daddy to die. And when Gus looked at him and yelled " _isn't there anything you can fucking do?_ " Justin had collapsed.

He had cried harder and louder than he had even that day in the hospital, and in the back of his mind he was thankful, for a moment, for Brian's horse pills. He barely heard Gus' tears lessen over his own, and he curled around himself on the floor of their dining room, cursing the harsh injustices of this world...

Sixteen years was not enough time to spend with the man you love. It just- It couldn't be over. Not now... He felt Gus drop to his knees beside him, and there, on the dining room floor, they clung to each other, offering what little comfort they could to one another. It wasn't enough, but it was something. And in the other room, Brian slept on...

Spending time with Brian was hard. It was hard to look at him and not think that any day now he could be ripped away from Justin. That this was it. There was no more time together. They tried to make the most of their time, and they tried not to mention it. But one day, after Justin had brought breakfast to Brian in bed and then curled up next to him, Brian stopped suddenly and looked at Justin. Stared, really.

"What?" Justin asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious, which was a ridiculous feeling around Brian, who'd seen literally all of him.

"I'll miss this the most," Brian said. "At least I think I will. Just... being here with you." Justin couldn't stop the tears from coming, then.

"I love you, Justin Taylor." Reaching up weakly, Brian cupped Justin's face, bringing him in for a now wet kiss. "If this is all the time I have left, then I'm glad it's with you. I love you. With everything I am." They kissed again, and when they broke apart, Justin managed to get out through his gasping sobs: "I always... knew you... were a closet... romantic... Brian Kinney." And Brian had held him, as best he could, as Justin had curled against him and cried softly. Justin felt Brian's tears landing in his hair, but didn't mention it.

The day that Brian finally left him, Justin felt a fog settle over him. He went where his friends guided him, ate what was put in front him, did what he was told, for the most part. He didn't want to be part of a world without Brian. He couldn't go _home_ without Brian. Brian was home...

The only time it lifted was when Gus was around. Gus seemed to be in a fog of him own, but thankfully kept coming to Justin for comfort. The next time Justin cried was when Gus called him _daddy_. Just daddy. His usual title for _Brian_. Hugging Gus, _his son_ , and trying to calm himself down, he swore to himself and to Brian that he'd be the best damn father this kid could ever have. He could do that, for Brian. He'd do anything for Brian.

7.

In what had to be the most ironic twist of fate ever, Justin had cancer. Lung cancer. But at 67 years old, he felt that he was much more prepared for this than _Brian_ had been. God, it'd been so long, but sometimes he still woke up expecting to see Brian next to him in bed...

It'd been so hard, but he also felt that he'd had a fulfilling life. There'd never been anyone after Brian, but he'd thrown himself into his art and into being the perfect dad for Gus. Lindsay and Mel had been surprisingly understanding about it all, or maybe not too surprising, given what he'd lost...

He was in a hospital room at the moment. They'd said that there were many options he could try, many treatments available to him, but in his heart Justin knew that none of them would work. It was _his_ time.

He looked to his end table, where there sat a laminated piece of paper. Under the laminate, the paper was old and wrinkled, faded and smudged. It was a letter. Weeks after Brian had left them all, he'd found it tucked away in a drawer in their bedroom. It was from Brian. In it he'd written that more than anything, he wanted Justin to go on living. Just because his story was over, that didn't mean Justin's was, and he knew that Justin could do so much if he tried.

Justin still mentally blocked out the part about finding someone else to love.

The letter itself had sent Justin spiraling into a two week depression, where he'd refused to leave the house and barely ate, alternately staring at the letter and pictures of Brian, laying in their bed the whole time. He'd refused to change the pillowcase on Brian's side, because it smelled like him. He remembered clutching it to himself at night, feeling like he was drowning in his loneliness...

He also remembered feeling surprised when it got easier. He'd _never_ stopped loving and missing Brian, but the pain eventually started to lessen. He'd eventually stopped feeling like Brian was just in the other room, or at work, only to remember and fall headlong into a depression yet again.

He thought part of that may have been the pills his psychiatrist gave him, though. And what was that quote? _"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."_

That was exactly it. It was always there, but it became more like a scab than a gaping wound.

Of course, there were always things that could, and did, rip the scab off and cause it to bleed again, but for the most part he found that existing got easier with each day. And as the years went by, the scab was ripped off less and less, and he finally got to the point where he could remember Brian without feeling that overwhelming sense of loneliness he'd gotten so used to in the years right after.

He had art shows all over the world, and Lindsay had a fantastic time representing him. _Rage_ got even bigger, and though they never got their movie, Justin and Michael were invited to Comic-Cons all over the country. He'd been Daphne's "Gay Man of Honor" when she finally tied the knot, and he was godfather to her three children.

He'd never been able to bring himself to move out of the loft, the only place where he and Brian had ever lived together, but he had redecorated considerably. He'd kept their bed, though, and the lights above it. He felt like he'd kept a piece of Brian, that way.

He had a journal that he kept, and he started each and every entry as "Dear Brian..." He knew his friends thought he was nuts, and way too fixated on a dead man, but he didn't care. And when Michael had lost Ben years later, he'd finally understood. He remembered how, a few weeks after Ben had passed, he and Michael had spent one weed and junk food laden night reminiscing about Brian and Ben. And he knew that Michael had a "Dear Ben" journal, just like his.

He'd seen Gus graduate, and seen him to college. He'd been there when Gus had injured himself playing baseball and had to sit out the State Finals. He'd been there, awkwardly, when Gus had come to him with girl trouble.

And he'd been there when Gus had gotten married, to a lovely girl named Anna, who now called him _daddy-Justin_ along with Gus. He was _papa-Justin_ to their kids, an older boy Gus had unsurprisingly named Brian, and little Eve, who wasn't all that little anymore, admittedly, but she'd be _little-Eve_ to him. He'd miss them the most...

Doctors came in and out, each with their own ideas about how to cure what ailed him, and Justin half-heartedly listened to them. He wasn't surprised when none of their methods worked. They all seemed so surprised with the peace he was at when there news of doom. But why wouldn't he be? He had all his affairs in order. He'd said his goodbyes. It was time to go home...

Gus came often, and sat there, holding his hand. When he thought Justin was asleep one night, he started talking softly. "Daddy, I know that you want to be with Daddy-Brian again, but I just want you to know that I love you, and I'll miss you. So goddamn much." It broke Justin's heart to hear Gus crying over him, but it wasn't like he could control cancer..."-and I know I'm probably selfish, but I don't want you to go! I need you, dad..."

"Oh Gus," Justin started, startling Gus. He pushed himself up weakly and leaned against the headboard for a moment. "Gus, you don't need me anymore. You've got your own life to live." He grabbed Gus' chin, gently tilting his head until he was looking at him.

"You know that if I could, I would change this in a heartbeat. I love you, Gussy. But I can't. You know that. But always remember, no matter what, that I love you with all my heart. So did your dad. And we'll keep on loving you from where ever we are. Never doubt that." And he and Gus clung to each other once again, and that old feeling of deja-vu swept over him, only this time they weren't on the dining room floor. The feelings were nearly the same, though.

And a month later, as Justin lay in his and Brian's bed, with his family around him and Gus' hand held loosely in his own, he wondered if this had been what Brian had felt as he closed his eyes and let the feeling of peace wash over him.  
 _  
He was going home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been years since I wrote this fic, and years since I looked at it, and I'm sitting here trying to edit it and fix some of my monster paragraphs I seem to have loved, when the song that started this whole fic all those years ago comes on. I have about 300 songs on this playlist, what are the chances of this song coming on at this moment? Thanks Spotify, it helped with the editing. The title of this story is the title of the song, and it's by The Dreamer and the Sleeper, if you were wondering. 
> 
> "Seven times,  
> Your mindless rhymes,  
> As the needle stings,  
> And the test tubes fill with dreadful things.  
> You're spinning round,  
> From the words you found,  
> With arguments you've buried underground...
> 
> Through the wars in the streets,  
> And the hospital sheets,  
> The letters will read:  
> I miss you so."
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
